Puberty
by Ochiba Konpeki
Summary: Puberty just fucking sucks guys. Kinda rapey. PWP, sucks all around. Cheers!


_Soooooo... This is really old. I wrote it and promptly forgot about it. So good luck._

**Puberty**_  
_

Puberty is a fat, sadistic bitch.

I implore you, let that sink in. Puberty. Sucks. Ass. Seriously. Fuck puberty.

She was not kind to the children of South Park. She came too early for Kenny, quickly making him by far the tallest kid in his grade, tall and lanky and clumsy. Cartman's bad diet and hygiene caught up with him like a slap to the face and soon he was completely broken out. Wendy started having to shave her upper lip (oh, the curse of dark hair and pale skin) and Bebe suffered greatly from middle pain. Clyde gained weight like nobody's business, Tweek's energy shot sky high, and hormones made Craig depressive and easy to upset. Butters' hormones were driving him up the wall due to his fierce denial of his homosexuality. Kyle's baby fat melted away within months and was replaced by mere skin and bones, his metabolism speeding up so dramatically that he was literally always hungry and couldn't put on weight.

But Stan, it seemed, was taking puberty with grace, and everyone envied and admired the way he grew smoothly from a boy to a handsome, fit young man. His skin was clear, he grew steadily instead of in spurts, which meant he never lost his grace, his physique developed nicely and, as far as anyone could tell, he was just as calm and levelheaded as ever. Even Kyle, growing more frail by the day as he attempted to balance his appetite with his blood sugar well enough that he could feel ~not hungry, often expressed his jealousy of Stan to the guys when the noirette wasn't around.

But, little did any of them know, there was something dangerous brewing just beneath his charmingly zen smile...

OoO

"C'mon, Jew, fight back!"

My best friend, Kyle, was unfortunate enough to be part of that one category no guy wanted to be in-The Really Freaking Short Kids group. People like Butters and Tweek and Red-the people who were undersized and underweight, the smallest in the class. Cartman, on the other hand, was just one of the 'Mosts'. Instead of Most Insane (Tweek) or Most Popular (Kenny) or Most Fuckable (Bebe) or Most Intelligent (Kyle/Wendy), though, he was just Most Obese. Have you ever noticed that Most is a horrible, horrible word that should never, ever be said that many times in succession?

The stupid fatass, at current, had Kyle pressed against the wall beside school as we waited for Kenny's half hour detention to finish. As we grew older we grew closer, and really, we were always either all together or in pairs. Always. So we waited.

I clenched my fists in my jacket coat and ground my teeth behind my false amused grin, watching Kyle try with all his not-so-impressive might to try and escape from the simple hold Cartman had on him-a hand pressed tightly to each shoulder. My blood boiled but I forced myself to stay still. I had no right to interfere.

I kept my cool as their arguing escalated, quickly going from a halfway playful argument about Kyle having supposedly cheated on his Science test to a full on assault by Cartman on Kyle's sexuality. Kyle was flushed bright red in anger, nose scrunched up in that adorably angry way of his and fists banging uselessly against Cartman's soft chest. He was dangerously close to pouting between his harsh shouts of indignation but Cartman just smirked calmly.

"Look, Kahl, we all know you're a filthy little Jewfag, a gay little whore. I bet you take it up the ass from Kenny every night, huh? No way he's just coming over for a meal, he just knows he gets to have his way with that sweet ass of yours, hm?" Cartman crooned all this as though he were being reassuring and Kyle reared back a fist and aimed for his broken-out face, only to have his wrists caught and pinned helplessly above his head. My Stan-feathers ruffled up in indignation at the imagery-if I found out Kenny had so much as touched Kyle, ~heads would roll.

"Shut the fuck up, you fatass! I would never have sex with Kenny, asshole, I'm fucking straight! Everybody knows you just pull this homophobic thing because you're a flaming assmaster and you're hopelessly in love with Butters!" It was Cartman's turn to flush red in embarrassment and anger.

"Aye, you stupid Jew-whore sonuvabitch! How dare you question me, Kahl! I'm as straight as a fucking ruler, bitch, so just shut up and go suck Kenny's balls!" He spat in Kyle's face and I felt tremors of rage shoot up my spine, making my shoulders and fists shake ever so slightly. I tried to reign my self control in and took a deep breath.

Kyle snarled. "You're as straight as a goddamn rainbow, you worthless fatass! And I hope you never come to terms with it, because being your boyfriend is a fate I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, let alone poor little Butters!"

Cartman leaned down close to his face and pressed one chubby hand flat against his chest, chest heaving in his rage. "Oh, Kahl, Kahl, _Kahl_..." He laughed, a familiar, shudder-inducingly evil sound. "Even of I were gay (which I am totally fucking not), I wouldn't have a boyfriend, I'd have a bitch, and let's face it Kyle..." he leaned in closer, whispering loudly in the boy's ear. "You've always wanted to be my little bitch."

Fucking fatass has to take everything too far. Goddammit.

I felt like I was watching through a thick wall of water as Cartman's teeth clamped down hard on Kyle's neck and his palm roughly felt around the redhead's crotch, eliciting an angry, frightened little shout that finally pushed me over the edge. Everything just boiled over in an instant-the rage, the lust, the attraction, the possessiveness, the need to take, to own-it all just exploded.

I hardly even registered Cartman hitting the ground unconscious, standing in his place and staring down at his limp form as though it were some disgusting abomination, which I suppose it was. I was shaking all over, teeth clenched, cheeks red from anger, fists curled tightly, posture clearly animalistic and ready to attack.

"St-Stan?"

I looked over at the cause of all my stress slowly, taking in his subconsciously submissive bahavoir-feet close together, shoulders down, head down, the way he peered up at me through his eyelashes, his hands-restless and jerky in their movement against each other, his hesitant words. His fright. His vulnerability. His trust. He broke our gaze first, looking down at his feet as though to finish painting his submissive pose.

I wordlessly grabbed him by the wrist and literally dragged him away, towards my house. I wasn't going to wait any longer.

OoO

I knew what was happening, I watched it occur, I watched Stan change. I watched him grow and slowly take control of the school and the kids. He learned quickly how to assert this dominance of his, controlling conversation, always taking up the right posture (back straight, hands on his hips, stance sturdy, looking down at even the few people who were taller than him), demanding and receiving respect and attention in a subtle yet obvious way. I doubt many people noticed, but Stan was the dominant person in every relationship he had, with his peers, his friends, even his teachers and parents, with maybe only the exception of Shelley.

I knew a bit about body language (though I was almost never aware of my own), however, and I saw him take control to sate the need for dominance boiling up inside him. And I realized it wasn't enough for him. He was going to boil over, and I had a nasty feeling that I would be on the receiving end of his pent up emotion.

To be honest, I was a bit afraid of him.

For a moment, when Stan knocked Cartman out, I thought that maybe I was wrong-maybe he'd let out his energy in my defense as opposed to while attacking me. But I was quickly proven wrong, as the moment Stan was sure I'd not protest, I was being dragged down the street, running and stumbling over myself in order to stay on my feet, blind with panic as I tried vainly to pull away from my best friend's vice-like grip on my wrist, shuddering in fear as I realized where we were going-Stan's house. 'Where no one can hear you scream...' a voice whispered ominously in my mind, sounding suspiciously like Cartman.

Indeed, the house was empty as far as I could tell from the short glimpses I got of the South Parkian home, dragged even more ruthlessly to Stan's bedroom, vaguely aware that the noirette hadn't bothered to close the front door.

I was tossed into the familiar, dark bedroom carelessly, just barely catching myself from falling to the floor. Stan robotically turned and closed the door, locking it almost as an afterthought. I gulped. He stood with his back to me for several long moments, visibly reigning in his self control, shoulders relaxing minutely again and again only to tense back up immediately. I bit my lip and slid into a fighting stance, feet shoulder width apart, left in front of the right, fists up, shoulders squared.

When he finally looked back to me, taking in my best stance, he smirked in a sort of dark, humorless amusement I was unfamiliar with from him. I faltered as he stepped forward, stepping back and dropping my fists. "St-Stan, can we, uh, talk about this?"

I was a little guy, alright? Little and kind of frail. Stan was the quarterback and one of the strongest kids in school-he'd easily break every bone in my body if it came down to a fistfight. I kept backing up as he advanced, flinching when the back of my knees hit his bed and he pressed much too close to me, our chests brushing, his feet nudging mine apart to make room, my head tilted all the way back to see him and his head tilted all the way down to see me.

"Talk about what?" he murmured, a dangerous, dark smile on his lips. One of his hands fell heavily on my shoulder and the other cupped my neck, thumb pressed up against the soft area just below my chin, where my mandible stopped.

My breath caught in my throat. I was so screwed. So. Fucking. Screwed. I bit my lip and glanced down at his chest for a second before turning my best pleading gaze on his hard blue eyes. "Stan, I really don't want to fight you..."

He blinked blankly at me for a moment, uncomprehending, but a moment later he seemed to understand what I was saying-and think it absolutely ridiculous. He turned his head away, shoulders shaking with laughter and eyes bright with mirth. As he calmed down, I parted my lips to ask him why he was laughing, but I never got the chance. The moment he recovered, he shoved me down onto his bed, twisting and pushing to get me closer to the middle, following a second later to hover over me, knees shoved between my thighs, hands on either side of my head.

He leaned down close, closer, dangerously close, his lips a hairsbreadth from mine. "Why in the world would I ever fight you?" he inquired lowly. I parted my lips to respond-'Because you're a complete emotional wreck on the inside?'-but I was quite thoroughly cut off with a harsh kiss, his warm, surprisingly soft lips moving furiously against my own, his tongue claiming dominance over my mouth. I tensed up for a second and immediately started struggling, panic clouding my thoughts as it became harder and harder to breathe. I wrenched my head to the side, causing one of his canines to cut open my lip in the process, but Stan, undeterred, began planting shiver-inducing open mouthed kisses across my jaw, then my neck, prompting a startled cry to escape my lips from the foreign sensation.

"St-stop it, Stan!" I demanded shakily, tensing up uncomfortably, every worrywart siren going off in my poor little mind. He promptly ignored me, pressing down into me and running his hands up my sides, making me squirm. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Stan slowly stopped, leaning up and snarling down at me, evil in his eyes. "Kyle, shut the fuck up and take it like a man."

I cringed into myself, instinctively pressing against his chest, a strong sense of betrayal rising in my throat. "What did I do?" I demanded shakily, screwing my eyes shut. It was silent for several long moments and I slowly cracked an eye open, met with a furiously disbelieving stare.

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose and held the pose for several long minutes, looking for all the world like he always had, like he hadn't had a psychotic break. The illusion was short-lived, however, shattering the moment he spoke, voice radiating irritation. "You... Have been leading me on... Since sixth fucking grade. Always... Always fucking hanging off of me, cuddling with me, sitting in my lap, and you fucking-" He cut himself off, clearly unable to voice his anger. Cracking one clear blue eye open to meet my frightened stare, he regarded me quietly for several long moments.

"Fuck it." he growled.

So, that's how I ended up here, I guess-half naked on my hands and knees under my best friend, panting and shaking and struggling, nails clawing desperately at the sheets below me. I shuddered as I felt him press into my back, his hips against mine, his teeth clamping suddenly down on the back of my neck. I ceased my squirming and fell still as he began to absently nibble at the hypersensitive skin there, sending spikes of nerves up and down my spine. I couldn't believe what was happening to me-it was simply so... Unexpected.

Abandoning my neck, Stan leaned back and reached around to knock my hands out from under me, first the left and then the right. I fell before I could catch myself and a firm hand at my neck told me I wasn't going anywhere. I turned my head to the side and gasped in a shaky breath as I felt him rock against me with a strangled sound that sounded nothing like him. I couldn't see anything between my hair and the darkness of the room, however, so I clenched my eyes shut, fisting the sheets above my head in an attempt to ground myself.

The nails of his spare hand scraped over my ribs all the way to my hips, a pleasant sting accompanying them. His fingertips trailed away and I didn't have much time to wonder what was going on before I heard a pop and the scratch of a zipper being pulled down.

That was the moment it really hit me-this was happening. There's was nothing I could do about it. I didn't have a choice.

I tensed up and whimpered, trying to work myself away, but the only thing struggling got me was more pressure on my neck-I nearly choked-and a firm smack to the area near my hip. "Still!" he snarled demandingly. I heard the rustling of cloth and suddenly, I felt a tug on my boxers, the only barrier left standing between Stan and I.

The cold air was like a slap. I shivered and tried to pull my knees into myself, halted by the foreign sensation of Stan's long, calloused digits soothing over the area just above my sex. Every stroke was like fire, heat pooling tantalizingly in my abdomen as I shook. I hadn't noticed until then how hard I was. It was a bit of a shock-did I want this or not?

My indecision, in the long run, was irrelevant regardless.

His fingers, violating me in a way I hadn't experienced before, left me breathless. I wasn't given any time to adjust before I was being stretched by a second digit, prying at my entrance relentlessly. I cried out as they withdrew, tensing up as I heard my super best friend spit into his hand and the unmistakeable sound of Stan stroking himself.

He moaned.

His hand gripped my hip tightly and I felt the head of his cock against me. I felt paralyzed, but as he pressed inside I howled, panting as he stopped with just the head inside. "Fuck." I whimpered, pushing myself up onto my hands again.

Stan snarled, ruthlessly holding me in place as he shoved himself inside me to the hilt, causing me to scream as pain raced up my spine and fall onto my chest again, tears forming in my eyes. He planted his hand on the back of my neck again, pulling back just to rock back into me. He called my name, tightened his grip to bruising, and began to fuck me like he was in heat, dominating me so completely I could do nothing but clench my eyes shut and moan at the sensation.

It seemed like a lifetime before stopped, shuddering and becoming more violent before he just collapsed on top of me, forcing my hips down. I couldn't bring myself to open my eyes as he grew soft inside me and eventually fell out. He sighed contently and pushed himself up, shifting himself to the side of me. He patted me on the head, like a pet, and drew my limp form into his lap. I curled up into his chest slightly, hiding my face in his neck as I tried to remember to breathe. I choked as his hand found my sex, no less hard than it'd been before I had been taken. I came quietly over his hand, gasping into his chest, finally blinking my eyes open to see him raise his fingers to his lips, a satisfied smirk darkening his eyes.

I smacked him on the arm and shoved myself out of his lap, blushing as I was reminded of the pain in my rear end. "Fuck you." I muttered weakly. Stan smiled hugely at me and gathered me back into his arms.

"Mine!" he exclaimed.

OoO

Stan started changing, immediately. He was infinitely happier and friendlier, less dominating. To everyone else, anyway. I, on the other hand...

Kenny chuckled and slung an arm over my shoulders, looking around as an afterthought to assure that Stan wasn't around. "Damn." he started, shaking his head bemusedly. "I cannot believe you let Stan put a collar on you."

I reached up to feel the smooth black leather band around my neck, trailing to my throat, where a simple dog tag hung. I couldn't feel the words, but I knew what it said. My name. On the back, though, it said, "Stan's", away from prying eyes but still there.

"I'm afraid to take it off." I answered truthfully. Any action that could indicated I am less than one hundred percent property of Stanley R. Marsh resulted in a long, harsh session of fucking and, more often than not, his name scrawled over my skin in dozens of places.

Kenny snorted, tightening his grip on my shoulders protectively. "I'll fuck him up if you want me to, babe."

I shook my head. "It's a phase, it'll pass. I mean, yesterday, he didn't even get mad when I talked to Craig without him there. It's getting better."

The blond gestures grandly around the schoolyard and the various groups of students, some of whom turned away quickly, thinking themselves caught talking about my new accessory. "Dude. You're wearing a collar at school. I think this is already out of control."

Ken's warmth was ripped violently from my side. I started, but before I could react I was wrapped up in a tight embrace. "This is mine." Stan crooned, addressing the blond on the ground, referring to me.

Kenny looked positively murderous. "Fuck!" he shouted, shoving himself to his feet and brushing himself off, seething. "Maybe_ I_ should fucking rape Kyle, too, then we'll be on even footing!"

I was pushed to the side so that Stan could advance on the blond, cheeks red with rage, hands balled into fists.

Within moments, they were screaming their heads off at one another, gesturing wildly and shouting over each other.

I wouldn't be there when they turned around.

OoO

_Awful, right? Anyway, quick update-I'm not doing well on the mental health front. I recently scraped all the skin off an area of my arm. My therapist doesn't understand BDSM and is trying to get me to 'realize it's unhealthy'. I had a panic attack over my ex-the one who's going to jail. Don? I miss you._

**_QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS? REVIEW!_**


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